Embellished
by JabberJay Ink
Summary: "This is a cruel world we live in, and sometimes the blood we spill is simply not enough." Welcome to the 10th Hunger Games! SYOT closed!
1. Prologue Part 1

**Prologue Part One.**

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><p><strong>Eliose Leole<strong>

**District Ten Female**

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><p>Small flakes of ice tumble from the gray sky above, landing softly on the head stone of a young child. No parent should experience the burial of their child, yet the ground I stand on is riddled with the tombs of forgotten lives. This is how it's always been in Panem, and how it will remain for what seems like forever.<p>

None of these belong to anyone I know, though I am still haunted by the sight of these small graves because I fear that I've made an awful mistake. I knew the dangers of bringing a child into this world, yet I still gave into my desire to become a mother. Now I regret that fantasy, realizing only now, with a small life in my arms, that my dream was a mistake.

Although he's only about a month along, I still have a painful weight in my heart and the image of my son being dragged into a grave of his own. I shudder, rearranging the blanket that embraces me and my child in a light warmth. A soft but steady gust carries the falling particles of snow into my face, partly distracting me with the glistening wonder of a snowflake. The eerie and calm silence that accompanies this cold flurry almost whispers to me, seemingly possessing the breaths of the child that now lay below the icy ground, isolated from the world in a hidden existence of their own.

My son begins to squirm in my arms, clearly flustered by the cold weather. I bring his tiny body closer to my own, offering as much warmth I can supply. I turn away from the rows of tomb stones, slowly treading through the icy drifts. I hear another whisper, faint but clearer than before. It almost sounds like a warning, however I can't make out the message. The whispers continue as I travel through the snow. As my hand approaches the closed gate, I feel a light touch tickle my shoulder, but only for a moment.

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><p><strong>Tribute form and rules on my profile.<strong>

**Hello, and welcome to ****_Embellished_****! This is my first SYOT, so it may take a while for me to receive all the tributes I need. However, I am still very excited to be writing my first story.**

**I know this prologue is rather short, but this is only the first part.**

**Feel free to submit your tributes!**

**- JJ**


	2. Prologue Part 2

**Prologue Part Two.**

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><p><strong>Clio Ammon<strong>

**Capitol Female**

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><p><em>Click, click. Click, click. Click, click.<em>

The knot is my stomach tightens, now a mixed batch of fear, anxiety, and irritation. I swing around, searching for the sound, finding my Second-in-Command, Penelle Herro, clicking her pen continuously as she stares out the window. Typical women, always in her own little world. I rise from my chair and stalk over to where she sits, wrapping a firm hand around the black pen and tearing it from her grasp. Startled, the small women nearly falls back with her chair.

"Focus, Penelle! We need to get to work," I growl, tossing her pen into a trash bin. "If we can't make these Games interesting, President Snow will have our heads." She simply grumbled, brushing her fingers through her bright orange hair. Last year, 10 tributes jumped from their plates during the countdown, refusing to be a part of the Games. This sign of rebellion threw the president into a terrible rage, which ended with the death of our former Head Gamemaker. Now that I hold the top spot, I have the extra pressure to keep Snow happy and the tributes in line.

"What exactly can we do? This isn't the Quarter Quell, so we don't have the chance to really change anything." Penelle whined, slumping in her seat. She was so blind, it almost made me hate her. The answer was simply, but it wasn't presenting itself in her mind.

I turned toward the window, taking in the view of the Capitol from up here in the tallest structure. "We can't change the rules, but we can bend them," I calmly stat. "We don't have to add a giant surprise, just a small twist that will entertain the Capitolites and challenge the tributes."

There is a moment of silence that seemingly drags on for hours. Then, thankfully, Penelle's eyes light up with a sudden stroke of thought. She grabs a note pad and another pen from her large purse. Quickly scribbling on the paper, she smiles and swiftly turns the pad to me. The sentences written are at first nonsense to me, but soon I see the meaning of her words. This is the perfect twist, pure gold in my hands.

This year is going to be interesting.

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><p><strong>The SYOT is still open, and many spots are free.<strong>

**Hello again, and thank you all that submitted. I have a nice batch of tributes, but I still need lots more. Another small prologue part for you guys, hope you enjoy!**

**-JJ**


	3. Chapter 1: District 1 Reaping

**Chapter One: District One Reaping.**

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><p><strong>Grey Lazarus, 17<strong>

**District One Male**

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><p>It was far too early to be at the academy, in fact it was too early to be awake. The sun still hid behind the horizon, it's orange glow just barely visible. But today was an important day. Not to me, but to my trainer and "guardian", Thompson Bordwell. The old man fiddled with his keys while I tried to rub the exhaustion from my eyes.<p>

Thompson unlocked the doors, shaking with pure delight and repeating the same sentence over and over. "This is a big day my boy. A big, big day." I wish I shared his enthusiasm.

As he threw the doors open and flicked the lights on, I sluggishly wondered in, still fatigued after my early wakeup. He dances over to his desk and opens a drawer.

Pulling out a photograph of me, the old guy skips to the back wall, passing the multiple training dummies and racks of weapons that litter the floor haphazardly. On the back wall hangs a single frame and Thompson gleefully places my picture within it. The frame he reserved for his Victor, the frame he reserved for _me_.

I never really shared the same dream he had, never wanted to become a Career, but I was forced to from the moment he took me in. I still don't enjoy being what he's made me. A monster in everyone's eyes. A puppet in his. But that is what I am, a monster and his puppet. That's just something I have to accept.

Thompson strolls over, patting me on the shoulder and returning to his desk. He waves his hand toward the weapons, signaling for me to begin however much practice I can fit in before the Reaping.

I comply, stalking over to the closest supply of weapons and picking out a pack of small knifes. I get into position and aim the first shot, hitting a dummy's chest. Another flies from my fingers, striking the head. Three more, all penetrating the abdomen.

Thompson claps loudly from his seat behind me, cheering me on. I freeze for some reason, and my hand unconsciously reaches for another knife. I feel this anger bubble inside me that I can't explain and the sixth knife is thrown. Glass shatters and falls to the floor as the blade enters my portrait. Dead center, between the eyes. I stare at the mess I made in my small fit as Thompson rushes over.

The old man strikes a hand across the back of my head, scolding me for breaking his frame and ruining the picture. I continue to stare blankly at the glass, then back at Thompson.

With the last of the shards scooped up into a small dust pan, he walks over to the trash bin beside the front door.

"Focus your anger on training. And don't you fling another knife at anything but a dummy."

_You're a dummy. _I smile at the thought of tossing a blade into his head and ending his control over me. But I can't. I've killed once before and Thompson in a sense rescued me from the consequences. If I killed again, I wouldn't be as lucky.

However, I can still daydream about it.

And if I come back from this all, it might just become a reality.

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><p><strong>Colette Jayson, 18<strong>

**District One Female**

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><p>Blurry. Dizzy. Drunk.<p>

Just how I like it.

I sit up, wiping the drowl from my lips and kicking off the sheets. Beside me is the pale butt of some guy. I must of gone over board last night. Then again, sleeping with strangers was a normal habit sometimes, especially when I'm tipsy.

I climb out of bed and wonder to the bathroom, a skimpy red dress in my hands. After clothing myself and untangling my hair, I returned to the room to grab some things. My purse, his wallet, and a small bottle of something alcoholic.

I stumble toward the door and swing it open, revealing a bright sunrise. It appears I'm in some sort of motel, a dirty and rundown motel.

As I barely make it down the stairs, some guy from above whistles. I shake my hips in response, giggling drowsily as I travel down the street.

After tripping over nothing four times, I decide to sit down before my face kisses the concrete. A few minutes pass, then a familiar face greets me.

"Carmen," I smile, reaching up to hug my friend. She pushes me away, obviously bothered by the stench of beer and vomit that stains my breath. She never did fully understand the joy of partying like I did.

"Dammit Colette, really? On the biggest day of your life, you decide to get wasted." She knows me so well. "I didn't just get wasted sweetie," I mumble, placing a hand on her shoulder for extra stability.

She just rolled her eyes and helped me along. I always appreciated the fact that she never scolded me for this sort of thing, this one time being an exception.

Within no time, we arrived at her house. She opens the door and sits me on the stair case before vanishing into the kitchen. After a short argument with her mother, we both ascend to the second floor. I like her home, it's much nicer than mine.

Carmen throws me onto the bed and files through her closet. Tossing a nice blue dress at me, she asks me to change. I do so as she pulls out her own outfit, a light yellow dress and a tan leather jacket. She puts her curly brown hair up into a braided bun, while I just lazily tie my blonde locks into a messy ponytail.

We squeeze our feet into matching black heels and strut out, ready for the Reaping. Ready for my moment in the spotlight.

Even though I'm still a little drunk

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><p><strong>Grey Lazarus, 17<strong>

**District One Male**

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><p>After a good couple of hours training and preparing, we finally left the academy and headed for the Reaping. On the way there, Thompson continuously reminded me to control my anger, which is funny because hearing his voice makes it harder not to lash out.<p>

I manage to keep my head and we arrive without a conflict. Rows of children are already filling in the different age sections. Thompson slaps a firm hand on my shoulder, whispering the words "make me proud". He places something in my hand before waddling over to the adult area.

I open my hand to see a small, jagged silver ring. It was my father's, and the sight of it reminds me of the terrible man he was. This will be my token.

I sigh, place the ring in my pocket, and enter the line, awaiting the sharp prick that while take my blood like it has every year. As I approach the table, the women flinches at the sight of me. I clentch my fist and try to be patient as she calls over some Peacekeepers. One of the men draws my blood instead and shoves me forward.

The boys behind me all back away as I shoot a sharp glare at the women, who winces at the gesture as if I hit her.

I find my place in the 17 year old section, where the others slowly scoot away from me. All this fear that surrounds my presence has keep me a loner for so many years. Another curse that Thompson has placed on me.

The mayor wastes no time, pulling out the same stupid speech she gave every year about how lucky we are to receive the Capitol's kindness. Kindness? She calls this kindness.

After the extensive speech, the escort prances up to the stage and presents us with the same boring footage the Capitol forces us to sit through. Once that's done, the pale, blue haired man begins the Reaping.

Carefully reaching into the female bowl like it's filled with snakes, he pulls out a card and slowly opens it, giving the crowd a stupid excited grin.

"Shima DeVeil."

At the sound of her name, all hell breaks lose. Girls from the 17 and 18 year old section begin to scream and pull at each other's hair in hopes to snatch the spot. It's kinda strange how even though this has only been going on for ten years, there is already a violent craze to attend the Games.

A girl finally emerges from the chaos, stumbling up the stairs in a drunken state that is visible to everyone. She giggles and slurs her name. Colette Jayson. I don't recognise the name, but I do know that she'll be a handful if we end up in an alliance.

The escort laughs with her for awhile, obviously enjoying himself next to the intoxicated and attractive Volunteer. He then turns his focus back to the Reaping, reaching into the bowl even slower than he did with the previous one.

"Mar-"

I don't waste time waiting for the name, calling out and interrupting the Capitol freak. I walk out of the crowd, glad that no on dares to fight for the spot.

I proudly call out my name and shake hands with the drunk girl. I never liked the idea of volunteering, but now that it's happening, I feel a satisfying sense of superiority over the crowd. This must be why everyone wants to volunteer.

The escort announces our names once more before guiding us into the Justice Building. As the door closes, I spot Thompson.

He's smiling, clearly pleased that I carried out his dream.

Now that good feeling is gone, replaced with the same anger I've lived with for years.

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><p><strong>Colette Jayson, 18<strong>

**District One Female**

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><p>The Peace Keepers offer me a cup of coffee, which I gladly accept. The buzz is gone, replaced by the hang over headache that always ruins my fun. That's the downside of drinking a lot. That fuzzy, incoherent feeling fades quicker as you get used to it. Plus, I didn't get the chance to drink the liquor I stole from that motel room.<p>

At least I have the image of Ilise's jealous face as she witnessed me taking the spot she longed for. Being a fellow trainee, she also planned to Volunteer. But this was her last chance, and I took it.

The doors of the room fly open, and my parents walk in. Shame, I wanted to see Carmen.

Me and my parents where never close, never talked with each other. Hell, I rarely came home. They live a strict and stubborn life, and I do as I please and live how I want. They may have a completely different existence, but I still love them, and they love me.

My mother sits on the couch beside me, while my father stayed beside the door, his arms crossed.

"We didn't know you'd be volunteering," my mother said calmly, looking down at her lap.

"We didn't think you'd do it drunk either." I looked up at my father. He was angry for sure, staring at me with that same disapproving look he gave me since I was 16. My mother shushed him and turned toward me, finally showing the worry in her eyes.

I smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's alright, I've trained for this. I wanted this so we could have a better life."

That was only half true. The money I would receive would help, considering we're one of the poorest families in District 1. But I mostly wanted the glory, the experience of beating the odds and coming home with the title of Victor.

The Peace Keepers returned, quicker than expected. My mother hugged me before standing up and walking out. My father wrapped his arms around his wife, comforting her as best he could. Before the door closed, he looked back, concern in his eyes.

I sat alone now, with the silence of the room coming down on me. Thankfully, I wasn't alone for long. Carmen burst from the door and nearly squashed me, jumping onto the couch and throwing her arms into the air.

"That was hilarious!" She laughed, slapping my shoulder.

I smiled, glad to have my friend back after that weird seriousness she had before the Reaping. This was more like her, finding all my goofy and stupid actions humourous. We laughed together, ignoring the other figure in the room. Yohan, my more permanent boyfriend, stood at the side of the sofa.

I pushed Carmen aside after awhile, jumped off the couch, and kissed him on the check. He smiled and planted a hand on my rear, which was quickly removed. "Not right now, sweetheart, I have to focus on the Hunger Games."

He grinned and pulled out a small box. "I hope you remember to use these then," he whisperd, kissing me before leaving with Carmen. I sat back down and opened the gift. Inside was a pair of gloves. Yohan's gloves, the ones I used to always steal from him because I loved how soft they were.

"Thank you, baby."

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><p><strong>And there you have it, the first chapter!<strong>

**These two are possibly my favourite district partners. One is a much feared and homicidal loner, and the other an out of line party girl with some focus on things other than having a good time.**

**I've been waiting a while to write this chapter, and now it's finally here. Expect the next chapter soon. And thank you President Snowflake and SomeDays for these wonderful tributes!**

**-JJ**


	4. Chapter 2: Important Message

Hi guys! Yup, I'm not dead. Hooray!

Anyways, yes, I have been inactive for quiet awhile, and I am sorry for the wait. My family decided to move earlier than expected, so I've been busy transferring from one state to another.

As for the story, I am still continuing Embellished, so don't worry. I've just been having a low inspiration crisis. The thing is, I'm not happy with the way I've been doing the Reapings. Writing twelve chapters of basically the same thing really drains you, so I have decided to switch it up. My cousin and I browsed around, looking for a new approach, and I found one I like. Instead of twelve, tedious and painfully similar chapters, the Reapings will be split into six. There will be two Pre-Reaping chapters, two Reaping chapters, and two After Reaping chapters. That means eight tributes per stage of the Reapings, and that also means less time waiting for the Train Rides, Capitol, and most importantly, The Games.

Thank you all for your patience. As I've said before, this is my first SYOT, so through this story I'll be trying new ideas and approaches until I've found the right way for me. Once this slightly experimental fiasco is finished, I can assure you there will be plenty more stories.

Expect the new chapter between now and Wednesday.

- JJ


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